Dreamcatcher
by LittleLinor
Summary: Ciel, the last autumn story. Thanks to his friends' companionship, January's dreams have gotten scarce, but not soon enough that their horror plagues someone else. Daughter/January-ish. Rated for descriptive death scenes.


So, since I FINALLy got a review on Feline, I'll be uploading this one. Because I'm grateful, and because Ciel needs more fans, damnit.

This was actually written in december, but oh well.

Much more angsty than last time, some of the images there might be disturbing, so read at your own risk. Also, hints of DaughterJanuary but that's nothing new, and it's canon anyway.

Dedicated to COC, who made me publish it, and to Measuringlife, who made me finish writing it back then. She was a real help. Also, to Mandy who actually read the series.

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**Dreamcatcher**

As Daughter wakes up he has to force down the urge to throw up. He had long ago stopped being bothered by dreams, be they just weird or plain frightening. But in all the years since he had learnt control he had never felt such raw, terrifying despair from a dream. He breathes in shakily and that mere breath doubles the nausea that was pooling at the back of his throat.

He stops breathing.

Just for a few seconds, his lungs purposefully deprived of air, as his ears frantically search for the only sound that can break the dream's all too clear reality. He counts seven of his own heartbeats before a peaceful, delicate sigh reaches him and he allows his chest to take in air. His eyes finally open to a world he now knows to be devoid of the blood he had felt, seen, _smelt_ seconds ago. They turn to the other side of the room and catch hair of coals and ashes barely visible between the covers. January's back is to him, but his shoulders are relaxed, a sight that used to be rare but is now nearly systematic.

One breath at a time, slowly, in and out, long enough for his heart to stop battering against his windpipe and for the all-too-precise scene to dissipate, taking with it the blood smears, knife, screams and helplessness. He forces in the feeling of the slightly rough sheet on his skin, the cold air on his face, the greys of the barely moonlit room, and the gentle breathing that he drinks in desperately, faint dew against his mental and emotional deshydratation.

His senses are back to the cold night he's lying in, but his eyes still fight to blink away the image of January's still-pained lifeless face half covered in sweat- and blood-weighted hair. He wonders why his throat isn't raw from how much he remembers screaming.

He wonders which are the worse. Those where January just lets himself slip away, or those like tonight where he actually fights back… or calls for him. His own name is ringing in his memory, and he feels disgusted that he was still out of reach and had to watch the already-thrust knife _moving_ inside January's chest.

He'd thought that January not defending himself was one of his greatest fears. He realizes now with the violence of his rejection that hearing that scream and being too weak or too slow to save him would break him.

He sits up in his bed, shivering slightly and welcoming the cold-induced reaction. January is still sleeping peacefully, a mere two meters from him, so unlike the restless nights he would have when they had first shared the room. The irony is almost palpable. With Daughter's presence and protective attitude January's nightmares had receded, pushed back to the always-wary part of his conscious mind that had kept him alive to see his sixteenth birthday. And now…

He shakes his head. He had never been so affected by fear. Why, why is the terror that had followed January through childhood and teenage years plaguing him now? It's rendering him helpless and weak. He wonders how it was for January, how he stood living through this nearly every night.

Daughter can remember each and every one of his dreams. The knives, the poison-labouring breath against his chest, the thirteen seconds before impact, the smell of powder, the peaceful face glimmering with the wavelets of water running overhead. They're starting to intrude on his daylit thoughts, making him worry irrationally -or is it that irrational? Somehow he can't help but wonder if there isn't some truth in the grim foreboding he feels- whenever the auburn-haired youth isn't in his line of sight. He feels guilty, in a way. What right does he have to get so worked up over them? January had been the one living through all of these for years on end. And now assaulted by fears that shouldn't be his in the first place, Daughter is the one who finds himself craving comforting, and the presence and voice of the young Count.

It's selfish but he knows that he'd stop at nothing to protect himself from the pain his nightmares let him glimpse.

He stands up and sits at January's desk, within reach of the long strands of silver-gilded red hair. His fingers reach towards them on reflex, and he can _hear_ Yvienne whispering "hair fetish" with her knowing grin. He wants to pull back in annoyance at the thought, but the impulse is too strong. Fingertips ease under stray locks, caressing then following them up until his palm is resting on the top of January's head, soothing and reassuring, almost more to himself than to January. With the soft threads under his fingers he can feel his anxiety ease slightly, his body relax. The peace he can feel in January's posture gets to him, and though he's not smiling he's slightly content. At least one of them isn't plagued by those fears.

He wonders if he should let January know how much it affects him. Then rejects the idea. The kid's had enough. It's taken him some time and his near constant presence, but now that the nightmares are gone and he has friends to rely on, the smiles on January's face have become more frequent and less forced, less of a melancholic acceptance and more of a genuine happy smile. They are precious, after all his efforts, and he isn't about to throw them away by getting January to worry about him.

He worries about people all too much already anyway.

Which leaves him with only one option, really. If he never wants to have reality meet one of the nauseating visions he has been experiencing, then he'll have to protect January no matter what. Keep him close, help him learn and fight, force him to get over that slight suicidal tendency.

He knows it's selfish but January's going to have to bear with him, because Daughter isn't about to let himself go through the pain of losing him.


End file.
